His Quiver
by Czarna Pantera
Summary: Carrie Cutter's life changed forever when the Arrow saved her. In that moment their destinies became entwined and she knew... She really knew that they are meant for each other. A story about Cupid's madness, obsessive love and her time at Suicide Squad. A tie-in for "A Professional Observation".
1. Prologue: Roses

**Longer summary:** _Carrie Cutter is one of the most interesting and intriguing characters in "Arrow" and at the same time rather neglected by the fandom. Amy Gumenick gives a terrific performance every time when she appears on the screen and thanks to her portrayal I started to pay attention on Carrie. The idea to write a separate story about her (which again was supposed to be an one-shot, but became something else) appeared when I was working on "A Professional Observation"._

 _I can't believe that nobody really touched the topic of Cupid's obsessive love to the Arrow, or rather wrote a paring like this. So it seems that for the very first time I will have a pleasure (lol) of creating a new paring in the fandom— **Carriver**. It won't really happen until the sequel to "A Professional Observation". You don't necessary need to know that story to read "His Quiver", although the last chapter will lead directly to the sequel and it is set within the universe started by **"A Professional Observation"**. So the same as that story "His Quiver" is an AU after 2x23, only incorporating a part of the episode "Draw Back Your Bow" (I'm flexible when it comes to certain subplots, I just cancel the existence of the rest from my mind)._

 _Cupid is more like a dangerous and destructive element than anything else. She acts on the spur of the moment without second thoughts, has zero restraints or scruples, and will raise hell all over city in order to get what she wants. That would be of course getting into the Arrow's pants. To some extent she represents all those women who hook up on serial killers—only that in her case it is brought to an extreme and she is a killer herself. Sweet serial killer I would say. Dealing with her must have been particularly disturbing for Oliver, as at times she seemed to be a reflection of him shown in a distorting mirror. Come to think of that Doctor Pressnall's diagnosis of Carrie partially suited to Oliver as well..._

 _One can only wonder what made Carrie so twisted, and what she was like before. Because the Carrie she is now has nothing to do with the girl she once was—all of those are symptoms of a terrible mental illness. Although it will be not the main focus (going to mix action, romance, drama and angst here), this story deals with psychological trauma and obsession caused by a mental disorder. If you don't like stories which dwell too deep into psychology, psychopathology and sociopathy as well as mental health issues, there is a very high possibility that you will find some parts too disturbing._

 _Tagging this as a romance is rather a long shot, but love—albeit obsessive, crazy, and one-sided (for the time being—wait for the sequel of "A Professional Observation", "His Quiver" will have some **Florrie** though—Carrie Cutter/Floyd Lawton)—is an integral part of Cupid's character. After all what she craves the most is to love and to be loved..._

 _Many thanks to_ _ **Perosha**_ _for beta. :)_

* * *

 _Light of his life, fire of his loins  
Keep me forever, tell me you own me  
Light of your life, fire of your loins  
Tell me you own me, give me them coins_

 _And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers_  
 _Chasin' me all over town 'cause he knows I'm wasted,_  
 _Facin' time again on Rikers Island and I won't get out_  
 _Because I'm crazy baby, I need you to come here and save me_  
 _I'm your little scarlet, starlet, singin' in the garden_  
 _Kiss me on my open mouth_

 _Yo I'm off to the races, laces_  
 _Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down_  
 _I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement_  
 _Love you but I'm going down_  
 _God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving_  
 _I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island_  
 _Raising hell all over town_  
 _Sorry 'bout it_

Lana Del Rey "Off To The Races"

 **His Quiver**

 **Prologue**

 **Roses**

 _This whole unfortunate series of events starts on a seemingly completely ordinary Thursday night. It is another dull and empty evening, and Carrie Cutter is sitting in her apartment, feeling lonely and useless, succumbing to depression._

 _She stares blankly at the bouquet of red roses standing on the table in a tall slim vase, supporting her cheek on her hand. Well, those flowers were red a week ago. Or perhaps that was more than a week. A dozen days or so. She is not sure. Now the once beautiful roses have lost almost all their petals and turned gray, withered and lifeless. It is exactly what her life is right now. She has no idea what to do with herself. It has been nearly two weeks since she finished her therapy. Six months earlier she spent some time on a locked ward in St. Walker's hospital after she suffered an emotional and mental breakdown. Pressnall, the shrink SCPD sent her to, gave her professional opinion after they finished their psychotherapeutic sessions. She described Carrie as "functional again" and "slowly recovering", but strongly suggested a line of work which wouldn't put such high strain on her, since her psychological make-up, as she put it, is very fragile. That basically means the end of Carrie's carrier in SCPD. It is highly unlikely that she will ever go back into the field, not to mention join the SWAT again. Her superior, pretending to be concerned about her future in the force, has suggested to her a new post in the precinct—an office job, which plainly speaking is a degradation. It is obvious that he would be more than glad if he managed to get rid of her. A cop with a psychiatric problems is a cop causing trouble and they don't need that in SCPD—they already have a lot on their plate with that vigilante who appeared out of nowhere and has started to mete out justice on his own account, working outside the system._

 _Her boss advised her that she should take some time off to mull over the offer and come back when she's ready. It seems that Carrie will never be ready. She can't imagine herself being stuck behind a desk and working in the archive full of dust-covered files of old cases. She needs to do something useful. She craves action and an adrenaline rush. How is she supposed to live without all that?_

 _She focuses her attention on the flowers again, thinking that she should get up and get rid of that bouquet. Take the vase, throw away the dead flowers to the trash bin and wash the vessel. Put it back on the shelf and maybe buy new roses tomorrow... but she can't find in herself the motivation to perform even such a simple task. She just doesn't have enough strength... Can't pull herself together and do something useful. She is such a failure... Her whole life is. Her job was all she had, and now they have taken it from her as well._

 _Some more time passes before she finally gets up and goes to the kitchen. She stands in the middle of the room for a longer while, wondering what she intended to do. Finally she decides that brewing some tea would be a good idea. That she is able to do. She takes from the shelf a large green tea tin. It has a printing of a large four funnel liner with a black hull and a gold stripe with white superstructure. She opens it only to discover that she has run of black tea._

 _Great. Just great. She can't even brew herself tea without trouble._

 _At that time she has no idea that this one apparently small, meaningless and petty thing will contribute to changing her life forever._

 _She ponders a while over the empty tin can and then puts is down onto a kitchen unit, deciding to pop out to a corner shop to buy that damn tea. And maybe something for a late lunch. She looks at the clock hanging on the wall. Or rather dinner, given the late hour. Her fridge is empty. She doesn't take care of herself lately and completely lacks appetite. She suspects that it is one of the side effect of the pills Pressnall prescribed her. They don't make her feel better, only more miserable and lousy. Black tea is her main fuel. She can't go on like this forever, but she really doesn't care._

 _She never makes to the shop. She is not far from her apartment when suddenly she finds herself in a middle of chaos. She has no idea what is happening, and stops in the middle of the narrow street, disoriented. It is not the nicest neighborhood, but relatively calm. What's causing all the commotion? People are screaming in panic and apparently running away from some danger, passing her on the way._

 _Well, for one thing they aren't seeking cover from a shootout—Carrie realizes that there is no thud of gunfire. What is it then? Her police training kicks in. She looks around and quickly locates the source of the havoc. Two men in orange and black masks, not far away. They act very aggressively. Apparently they've set a few cars and some trash on fire, and are attacking anyone who is unfortunate enough to find themselves in their way. One of the men glances down the street and his eyes stop on Carrie, standing alone in the open space. Or rather, she guesses that he's looking at her, as she can't see his eyes exactly—they are two deep black empty holes in that ominous-looking mask._

 _Carrie is paralyzed with fear. She can't move. Before she regains control over her body, the man approaches her in a few swift moves. He seems to be awfully fast for someone of his size and build. He seizes her by her throat without saying a word and lifts her up without any effort. She never has a chance to defend herself—it happens so suddenly. She gasps for air, feeling a powerful grip tightening on her windpipe. She clamps her hands on his wrist instinctively, trying desperately to make him let her go. But he is strong. Too strong._

 _"_ _No! No, no...!" she utters pleadingly, tussling frantically like a fish out of the water._

 _Her vision dims as she feels the grip of the_ _assailant_ _'s fingers slowly tightening on her throat. He apparently takes a sick pleasure in killing her slowly. Nobody does anything. Everyone is too afraid or thinks only about themselves. Tears of helplessness well up in her eyes—she doesn't want to die, not like this..._

 _Suddenly a black van stops not far away with a loud screech of brakes. In the next moment, she hears a_ swoosh _cutting the air, and suddenly she is free. She falls down on the asphalt_ , _wet from rain, hitting the hard surface with her knees and the palms of her hands._

 _She scrambles, too weak to get up on her feet, and glances up on her savior._

 _She sees a man in a green hood wielding a bow, with a quiver full of arrows on his back. The street lamp casts some yellowish light on him, outlining his silhouette and allowing her to take a good look at his leather costume._

 _The vigilante._

 _He saved her. He came to the rescue in the very last moment, stepping up for her when nobody else would._

 _The psycho in the mask focuses his attention on him. He yanks an arrow out of his shoulder and rushes to attack the hooded man. His partner, who is close by, joins him in that the attempt. But the vigilante is prepared for that and shoots an explosive arrow under their feet. That takes down both of them._

 _There is also a second man with the Arrow, a tall and well-built African-American in a leather jacket, holding a gun. Carrie doesn't pay much attention to him. Her eyes are riveted to the Arrow. What she feels is hard to describe. But there is a lot of feeling welling up in her chest. Gratitude. Awe. Fascination._

 _And deep, a very deep affection._

 _She feels as if he's set her on fire, matching the color of her red hair._

 _"_ _Everybody get back inside!" orders the Arrow, his voice full of authority. Carrie has a chance to admire him a while longer. Standing tall and unafraid, an island of self-assurance and strength surrounded by a sea of chaos and madness. He and his accomplice get back to the van, which leaves the scene in the blink of an eye with a roar of the engine and screech of tires. Two masked men who the vigilante has taken down are either dead or unconscious. All civilians had listened to his command and quickly taken cover, disappearing from the view._

 _Only Carrie is left. She notices the arrow the vigilante shot to save her lying in the street. She stretches out her hand and picks it up. She stands up, looking at the arrow as if it is the most precious trophy. It has a light green shaft. Two feathery vanes are also green, but have darker hue, the third one is yellowish—for the time being she has no idea why they are organized like that, and what a cock vane is. Very soon she will learn a lot about archery. Because of_ him _. But now it's the arrowhead which draws her attention. It is covered in blood. He spilled it for her. She needed him to come and save her, and he did, appearing out of nowhere as if something was driving him to her._

 _Carrie tightens her grip on the arrow. It is clearly a sign. She has desperately looked for a new purpose in her life and he has given her one. It can't be a coincidence. In that moment she knows. That they are meant to become_ one, _with their destinies entwined like that._

 _"_ _I will love you forever. Not maybe," she whispers with a small smile dangling on her lips. "You're my one true love."_


	2. Given and Denied

_Posting the first chapter as well. Carrie's POV brings writing to another level of craziness._

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Given and Denied**

"Sorry. But if I can't have you..." said Carrie, standing over the Arrow and glancing down at him. He was lying on his back on a train track, defeated. The man made an attempt to leap to his feet, but was rapidly stopped by the handcuffs. He shot a surprised glance over his shoulder at his left hand. He jerked his wrist, but the handcuffs held him in place. Carrie had cuffed him in one swift move during the fierce brawl they had. He was stronger than her, but she was more agile. Not to mention that the white-hot fury she felt after he had rejected her gave her an additional shot of adrenaline. She managed to direct his own force against him and made him lose his balance, kicking him in his tight. They both fell on the ground, rolling forward. That was when she handcuffed him. One ring closed on his left wrist, the other attached to a metal shackle which protruded from a railway tie. She had no idea what its purpose was, but it came in handy right now.

He rose halfway up, supporting himself on his left elbow and resting his right hand on the rail.

"Carrie, think about this!" he shouted, looking up at her. There was no panic in his voice, but he was alarmed for sure. As anyone who was chained to a train track would be. Although the station was closed, that line was still in operation. And trains came through it very often...

"I didn't want it to end this way," she said, painful disappointment welling in her chest. "I guess I don't handle rejection very well," she added venomously, dead serious.

"You don't have to do this." The Arrow tried to reason with her. He already guessed what her intentions were. Why wouldn't he? After all, he was a smart boy. Unfortunately, not smart enough to realize that she was the right woman for him. A fatal mistake. And apparently the last one in his vigilante career.

Carrie raised her head, hearing the honking of fast approaching train, its head light throwing a strong beam on the walls of the tunnel.

"I do," she said with conviction, smiling lightly. "But at least this way, we can be together. For eternity."

She liked how it sounded. And it seemed to be the right thing to do. They were meant for each other, so they should meet their death together. She didn't believe that there was any afterlife awaiting them, but one thing was certain—there would be no more suffering, no gnawing pain in her heart that only the rejection of love can cause. Only silence and darkness, engulfing them like the icily cold waters of ocean.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and spreading her arms wide. She didn't care any more about anything. In several seconds everything would be over. Her life was a failure anyway, nobody would miss her. The loud noise of approaching train was deafening. It was going to hit both her and the Arrow in split-second. And put an end to all this madness.

Suddenly a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the waist. She was pulled away and landed several feet away on the hard ground, at a safe distance from the railway. The train flew by at a crazy speed, the loud clatter of its wheels and honking of its horn echoing from the tunnel's walls, and then everything went silent.

She felt a warm body touching hers, an arm in a leather jacket resting across the bare skin of her waist... She knew that it was the Arrow, lying on the ground beside her. She was still breathing, and her back and left arm hurt, so apparently she wasn't dead. That meant that he saved her. Again.

She opened her eyes slowly.

The Arrow was kneeling beside her. He looked slightly pale, and kept his left hand a bit stiff. Something was not right with his thumb, it looked as if it was dislocated. He must have hurt himself while he freed himself from the cuffs. She sat halfway up on her elbows, looking up at him admiringly.

"I knew you loved me," she said softly with deep feeling, her heart melting.

His expression was far from being thrilled, but she didn't pay attention.

"You saved me, again, my beloved." She crawled to him and embraced him in a hug, snuggling her face in his arm.

Her dream came true, because the Arrow didn't pull away from her. She kissed him on the lips passionately, feeling the coppery taste of blood. She'd drawn drew when she kicked him in the face in rage, when he rejected her. But it will all change now. He must have finally understood how much she loved him. That they were just like two drops of water. And should be together. Forever.

"Take me, right now," she whispered in his ear, throwing her arms around his neck. She felt as if she already were on fire inside. She flushed and her heart was ready to burst out of her chest, beating faster than ever. "Take me, I'm yours, do it now," She chirped, filled with a sense of exhilaration. She wanted to feel him inside her. She was more than ready for him. Every arrow needed its quiver and she wanted to be his.

She fully expected him to make a move on her, but he was apparently the type of guy who liked some foreplay. His right arm slipped under the flap of her coat. His hand gently touched her hip, ran up the curve of her waist... She made a little sigh of pleasure. It was so wonderful to feel him touching her, but there was really no need to stall. She wanted him _now_. Her hands went to the zip fly of his trousers, but he stopped her quickly and a bit clumsily —his left thumb was still dislocated. She narrowed her eyes, shooting him a surprised and a bit suspicious glance. What was wrong?

"No need to hurry..." he said softly and reassuringly, looking her straight in the eyes. She sank in the depths of this gaze. What color his eyes were exactly she was not sure. It was too dark in that tunnel, so she couldn't tell whether they were green, or gray, or blue like her own. But she could look at them, and find the reflection of the deep feelings she had for him. It happened... It had really happened.

His hand was still resting on her side. She glanced at him expectantly, indicating that he could do whatever he desired. He hesitated for a moment, but then his hand landed where she secretly wanted it to go—on her breast. He circled it with his thumb, stroking for a while but then, as if suddenly embarrassed by realizing what he was doing, he broke off rapidly and slid his hand back on her side. She gave a sigh of disappointment. She hadn't imagined him to be shy. But as long as he was touching her she was good. His hand traveled along her ribs, then ran down the path of her spine... Finally he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her closer. So close, that their bodies were pressed to each other, and she could feel his warmth. She could sense how fast his heart was beating—apparently that near death experience he owed her scared the living daylights out of him... It seemed that it was possible even for the fearless vigilante. Her own heart was also pounding in her chest, but for an entirely different reason. The touch of his gloved hand on the bare skin of the lower part of her back made her shiver from excitement. He was closer to her than ever before, and she could drink in his presence. Breathe in his scent, a combination of leather and sweat. It drove her nuts.

She felt rough material of his hood brushing her cheek, when he started to kiss her on the neck. She moaned and closed her eyes, tilting back her head, to uncover more bare skin for him, letting her long hair slip from her shoulders onto her back. His beard and moustache prickled, but she didn't mind, he was so manly with a few days' stubble... He kissed her a few more times, his breath warm on her skin, getting lower and lower each time... and suddenly stopped.

And then instead of his lips, she felt something sharp prickle her on the neck. As if she were stung by a bee.

"Ouch." Carrie opened her eyes, pulling away from him rapidly and freeing herself from his embrace. He let her go easily. She touched her neck, surprised. Her fingers brushed some small object. She pulled it out easily, as if it wasn't buried deep in her skin, and gazed at a green dart in her open palm. "What have you done?"

He didn't answer. But he didn't need to. In a heartbeat she knew what had happened. He betrayed her. Used her feelings for him against her.

"How could you..." She looked at him with eyes open wide from shock. Fury hot as fire welled up inside her chest instantly. She wanted to slap his face, but he caught her wrist firmly, easily stopping her hand. There was not enough force behind the intended strike, and she felt that her strength was being rapidly sucked out of her body. That brought her to the brink of panic. She hated when she had no control over a situation. Hated when somebody was breaking her trust.

"Calm down, Carrie," said the Arrow, when she yanked back. "This time it's really over."

She tried to resist whatever he'd injected her with, but it was too strong. Her vision was already getting blurry, and her head was spinning.

"Let me go!" she demanded, her eyes darkened with anger. A while ago she would have given everything to feel him touching her, now she couldn't stand the mere thought that he used a tranquilizer to stun her like some damn animal. Somehow she broke free, or perhaps he released his grip on her wrist. She leaped to her feet, but it was a grave mistake. In an instant she felt weak at the knees and staggered, losing her balance.

The Arrow observed her patiently, still kneeling on the ground, his hand resting loosely on his tights. He rose swiftly to catch her in his arms when she fell. His strong, loving arms, she thought half-consciously. No. Not loving. Those were the arms of the traitor.

He looked down at her with sadness written all over his face. And some guilt, because apparently he didn't feel right about taking advantage on her the way he had. Tears of anger appeared in her eyes involuntarily, and he must have noticed them, because his expression became even more grim. He supported her back with his right arm, holding her firmly, and waiting till his tranquillizer did its job. His right hand rested on her arm, and he stroked her gently with his thumb, as if he wanted to calm her down. But it was cold comfort. As the adrenaline circling in her veins was starting to fade away, she felt a fear slowly creeping in her heart. What did he intend to do with her?

Before she passed out for good she heard him mutter:

"I'm sorry, Carrie."

And he brushed a strand of her long, curly red hair from her face.

Or perhaps she imagined that last part while her mind was drifting away. It didn't matter, because she was already surrounded by pitch-black darkness and everything become indifferent to her.

* * *

Carrie had no idea how much time had passed before she slowly started to regain consciousness. The darkness enveloping her mind seemed to slowly fade away, but her eyelids still felt so heavy that she couldn't lift them, neither could she move any of her limbs.

Someone was holding her in his arms. The Arrow? It must have been him, she felt how strong those arms were. She was too confused to remember how he deceived her, and for a while was just glad because of the closeness of his body. She felt so secure in his embrace... So good... That was all she had ever asked for... To have someone who would save and protect her...

She heard bits of conversation forcing their way through the cobwebs which were engulfing her mind. First a woman's voice, icily cold and full of authority. Apparently she was far from being happy that she had to come here. Where "here" was Carrie was not sure exactly. She sensed that there was a wide open space around her as it was quite chilly, but that was all she was able to tell.

"Yes, I was told that the Arrow _demands_ to see me. And dragged an unconscious woman in here with him," said the woman. Her voice sounded as if she wanted to bite his head off. Carrie still half-conscious imagined a snarling black panther. A very angry black panther, baring its fangs because someone stomped on its tail. "What makes you think that you can give orders here? Your insolence has no limits, really..."

"It's urgent, Amanda," said the Arrow sternly.

" _I_ _decide_ what is urgent," she snapped back with an emphasis put on the first two words. She broke off, apparently to take a better look at Carrie. "Who is she?" she asked, mildly interested.

"Carrie Cutter. A former SCPD officer."

"And currently?"

There was a short pause before the Arrow answered.

"A criminal... And a murderer."

Now that was harsh. After all, everything what she did was for him! Because he inspired her. And who he was to call others that, given his own criminal record? But she didn't really have a chance to get angry with him, because her consciousness wandered off for a longer while again. What she heard next made little sense to her. She was no longer in the Arrow's arms, which was a disappointment. She was lying on her back, on a plain bed probably. She could feel a hard mattress without any cover over it.

"The question is if you want her in your Squad or not, Amanda?" asked the Arrow. He was standing nearby, close to the bed, guessing by the direction the voice came from.

What? Carrie's heart sank when she realized what those cruel words meant. He wanted to abandon her? Leave her here behind?

"I'll think about that once I find out what her capabilities and skills are..." said the woman named Amanda. Her tone was harsh, and surely she had no intention of making any promises. Who was she? There was some respect between her and the Arrow, but also a palpable hostility as if they were very reluctant allies.

"I assure you that she is more than capable," said the Arrow sternly.

"She kicked his ass, that's a good recommendation." Carrie realized that there was another man present in the room, or wherever they were. He was standing some distance away, maybe by the door. Although she couldn't see it, she sensed that the Arrow shot him a very grim look.

"You're getting soft." The woman spoke again. "She wanted to kill you. A while ago you would have just put an arrow through her heart. I wonder where that pity for her comes from? But then again, it isn't the first time you've fallen for a sweet serial killer, is it?" She was teasing him, and Carrie immediately felt strong aversion to Amanda, who dared to insult her lover. She seemed to be a cold-hearted bitch who enjoyed showing how powerful she was and putting everyone else into a corner. Overconfident men especially.

"It has nothing to do with pity," answered the Arrow calmly. His voice sounded surprisingly gentle, and Carrie realized that he was not using the voice modulator. "Iron Heights is just not good for her."

"Would you say the same if she didn't have such a pretty face?" asked Amanda. Well, maybe that woman was not that bad after all, because she realized that the vigilante must have some feelings for Carrie. There was a longer moment of silence. "You are playing with fire. She tried to kill you, given the opportunity she will try to do it again, and..."

Carrie stirred, which apparently drew attention of all people present in the room, because they fell silent.

"Don't leave me, lover..." muttered Carrie pleadingly. She wanted to feel his reassuring touch, but nothing like that happened. She passed out again.

* * *

 _What do you think? Did Oliver bring the game a bit too far? Well, to learn his side of the story you will need to wait for his POV which will appear in chapter 3 I guess. But remember that with that dislocated thumb it was not easy for him to take out that tranquilizer dart._

 _Hope you liked the beginning of the story. If that the case don't forget to comment and subscribe to follow, as it's going to be multichapter. You can also check out my other one-shots with Carrie **"Walking on Thin Ice"** and **"Your Own Slice of Insanity"**. You can also check out **"A Professional Observation"** —that's the story **"His Quiver"** will eventually tie-in with._

 _In next chapter Carrie gets an offer she can't really refuse. Great to have a possibillity to write some Amanda Waller again. :)  
_


	3. Overboard

_I'm back after a long break. Hope that you remember this story. The hiatus was a bit longer than I intended, but I was really busy with real life stuff last couple of months and I completely didn't have time for anything fandom related. Slowly coming back to writing, though. A new chapter of_ A Professional Observation _will be next hopefully, once I write it of course._

 _Warning: the story veered into rather dark territory. More in A/N._

 _One more thing_ _—dear **Guest**_ _—indeed, Walliver (Amanda/Oliver) might be an interesting pairing to explore. But maybe some other time._

 _Many thanks to_ _ **Perosha**_ _for beta. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **Overboard**

 _Carrie makes the fastest decision ever regarding her professional carrier and quits the force shortly after meeting the Arrow. She doesn't have time for any distractions. He is going to become her main focus in the upcoming months._

 _Before she leaves for good, she uses her position to access the information SCPD has on the vigilante. Only part of the data is digitalized—the police's internal information system which is supposed to store everything is still only partially operational. A huge part of the documents about cases involving the Arrow exist only on paper. Getting to the archive in Glades precinct needs some effort, since it is not her station. But she had started her career there before she became the first female member of SWAT. Some of her acquaintances still work there, so a talk with the right person gives her what she wants. She manages to copy some interesting files—not many of them, as she can't spend too much time in the archive without drawing unwanted attention. When she comes across the sketch of the Hood—looking more like an illustration from a Robin Hood book or a comic book's cover than a proper facial composite—she can't resist the urge and steals it. Fortunately the colleague who let her in the archive doesn't notice anything. It is the first thing she steals in her life. Soon she will do a lot of much worse things. She won't care what obstacles she will need to overcome to achieve her goal._

 _But first she needs to prepare accurately. Learn more about_ him _. She reads and collects every article she can find about the vigilante in the press. They write about the Arrow a lot, since he has saved the city from an army of mad criminals. He truly became the peoples' hero, and the city authorities, although they looked askance at the archer and couldn't stand his mere existence, were not able to degrade his involvement in stopping the crisis. People saw him with their own eyes. He was not some urban legend anymore._

 _She also wants to learn how to be like him. She buys her first bow on ebay–a wooden longbow, as it seems to be a good one for a beginner. It is pretty. She has no idea how to shoot it, not to mention how to string it (discovering that an unstrung bow looks more like a long stick than anything else was a surprise), but fortunately there is some archery clubs in Starling. One is even pretty close to her apartment, so she signs up for the course there._

 _"_ _A lot of people are into archery right now, thanks to the Arrow," says the instructor from the archery range when she comes to her first lesson._

 _"_ _Really?" asks Carrie, pretending to be politely interested. "Actually, I took interest in archery after watching_ Robin of Sherwood. _"_

 _He laughs, pretty sure that she is joking._

 _"_ _Ah, I know that one. A good show."_

 _The instructor shows her how to string and unstring the bow, commenting that the one she bought is indeed a good choice. However, as she needs to build up some strength before she will be able to draw it back to its full draw, he gives her another bow for a start. It has only 18 pounds of nominal draw and will be easier for her to learn how to shoot._

 _He shows her the correct archery stance, explains how to draw back the string and release the arrow correctly. He also talks about different methods of aiming—Carrie almost instantly decides to rely on the intuitive one. She senses that it is what the Arrow would most likely do. Since archery is clearly the instructor's passion, he answers all her questions. He has no idea how she intends to use this knowledge._

 _The day after the first two-hour session, Carrie's upper back and arms hurt, as well as three fingers of her right hand—what's worse, the joint of her index finger is painfully abraded. She has also hit her left forearm with bowstring a few times, which left a nasty purple bruise. Turns out that the long-sleeved hoodie she was wearing didn't offer proper protection. She needs to buy a bracer. Despite those minor setbacks, she feels more happy than she has in months._

 _Practicing archery gives her so much joy and satisfaction. And with every arrow she shoots she feels as if she is a little closer to her lover. She already calls him that in her mind._

* * *

When Carrie finally fully came back to her senses, she was alone in the room. She opened her eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling for a while. It was completely ordinary ceiling, and it told her nothing about her surroundings. She had no idea how much time had passed since she had been brought here. There was no way to tell.

She turned her head slowly to shoot a glance on the left side, to get a better look at the room. All she saw were naked gray walls. There was no furniture except the bed on which she was lying... It looked like a holding cell, more similar to a deep well than anything else. There was a ceiling lamp hanging high up over her head, throwing way too much bright light to her taste.

She squinted her eyes and rose slowly to a sitting position, rubbing her forehead. When no dizziness came, she lowered her feet on the floor. She pushed her hair more or less into place, and for a moment she just sat on the bed without any conscious thought surfacing in her mind. She had a slight headache, which was a very unpleasant sensation since she had no tendency to develop a migraine. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on knees, and closed her eyes, massaging temples. The darkness was comforting. So very comforting... And it was a welcome change to feel nothing in particular, instead of those disturbing thoughts and feelings which hardly ever abandoned her. That was probably caused by the fact that the tranquilizer was not completely out of her system. Usually she wasn't able to keep her emotions at bay; her mood tended to change rapidly and sometimes it was so damn hard to hold on. To live with oneself. At one moment she could hold a deep conviction that she knew exactly what she was doing...what she was aiming for, as if she had her eyes fixed on the target on the archery board. At the next she could break in tears, feeling lost and helpless. Like a complete failure. She pushed away everyone, including her own parents. They couldn't understand her. Nobody could. She was torn in two. Usually her needs and desires were the main force driving her. But sometimes the voice of reason, which was still present somewhere in the back of her mind, resurfaced and made her question her actions. In those moments she was scared of what she had become. The girl she once was couldn't find a way out of a dark maze of madness, trapped in her own mind.

Some more time passed before someone come to check on her. The door to the cell opened and a man wearing a military uniform came into the room. Carrie shot him a wary look when he approached her. He ordered her to stand up. She listened, too confused to put up any resistance, especially since she was still little dazed.

Before she realized it, he cuffed her and seized by her arm. Not brutally, but with enough force to show who was in control of the situation here. He didn't answer any of her questions about where she was and where he was taking her. He lead her through long corridor, urging her to move, when she slowed down. Some people passed them on the way, and she glanced at them curiously, even when her guard snapped a command to keep her eyes straight. Some of those guys looked like FBI agents, other wore similar uniforms to the man who accompanied her. Occasionally someone shot a look at the red-headed woman in a short brown coat, but overall she didn't draw much attention. Everyone seemed to be too busy running their errands and were not interested in some prisoner. But was it even a prison? It didn't exactly look like that.

Finally they got somewhere. Carrie noticed big yellow writing on the wall: "Block B". Her guard took out an identity card, tapped a control device located next to the doors and apparently led her into heavily secured part of this mysterious facility. Shortly after, it became clear where he was ordered to take her. They stepped into an interrogation room located on the far end of a short corridor.

Carrie sat on the metal (and very uncomfortable) chair the guard pointed out, and before she had a chance to ask another question, left her there alone.

She rested her handcuffed hands on the table before her and looked around. The room was huge, brightly lit and cold. Although she was still wearing her leather coat, she felt gooseflesh covering her arms. If she were in a prison, she would at least know what was happening. What the hell was this place?

The creak of the opening door drew her attention. She turned her head sharply to see two women entering. One of them was an African American of slender build. Her black hair was pulled in tight bun and the expression of her face was difficult to read—as if she was hiding everything behind a veneer of indifference and churlishness. Only her eyes were looking vividly and piercingly. She was wearing well-tailored female business suit, gray, and a white shirt. And red high heels shoes—so high, that Carrie instantly felt a little jealous. Where did she get those? She was accompanied by another woman, a caucasian who had shoulder length brown hair and was wearing wore more casual clothes, blue jeans, gray blouse and caramel leather jacket. It looked as if she was called on short notice. She had a folder with her.

Carrie didn't take her eyes off them as they both sat down at the table opposite to her.

„Who you are? Where is the Arrow?" she asked, before they had time to say anything.

"Your boyfriend bailed on you," said the woman, who caught Carrie's attention first. Apparently she was the boss here. Carrie realized that she was the one she had heard earlier talking with the Arrow, while she was half-conscious.

"It cannot be. He loves me. He saved my life," said Carrie fiercely. Well, he drugged her to take her down, but she had already forgiven him that. There was nothing she wouldn't forgive the Arrow. After all, he was the love of her life.

Her interlocutor raised her thin eyebrows slightly, as if she was a bit surprised.

"Yes, he mentioned something about how you had wanted to throw him under a train, and he saved both himself and you in the very last moment. Interesting relationship, I must say, more than others the Arrow's had."

"What others?" asked Carrie, puzzled. It didn't occur to her that there might be other women in the Arrow's life. Well, he was seen from time to time with a blonde in black leather with a bo staff, but she disappeared months ago. Good for her, because otherwise Carrie would make her disappear.

The woman ignored her question.

"My name is Amanda Waller. I'm the Director of Advanced Research Group United Support."

Carrie looked at her with a blank expression.

"So what? Should it tell me something?" she asked indifferently.

Waller only smiled half sneeringly, half deprecatingly. It was a strange smile, one which could give the creeps.

"Not yet, Ms. Cutter."

"I want to speak with the Arrow," said Carrie stubbornly.

"That would be impossible, since he is no longer here."

"Then where is he?"

"Probably licking his wounds back in his hideout. Guess he won't be able to hold a bow for some time thanks to your efforts."

"I didn't want to hurt him..." said Carrie, feeling a little guilty. She didn't want to do harm to her lover. It just...happened. By accident. He made her so blindingly furious that she didn't think what she was doing.

"No, you only wanted to kill him," pointed out Waller. "But it doesn't matter any more. Ms. Cutter, what is more important now..."

"I don't understand... He couldn't leave me, he couldn't..." whispered Carrie, not listening to her. Her glance become distant and absent.

Amanda Waller sighed heavily.

"Ms. Cutter..." There was a harder edge in the Director's tone of voice.

"Why would he do that... I love him so much... So much..." whimpered Carrie, lowering her gaze.

Waller tried to speak with her, but Carrie didn't pay attention, plunged in sorrow. The Director of Advanced Group of whatever apparently was not the most patient person in the world, because she only shook her head disapprovingly and turned her attention to her companion. The whole time, the woman which came in the room with Waller just listened to the conversation while the Director did all talking.

Carrie hung her head. Strands of her long, curly hair slipped off her arms, partially hiding her face. She didn't care that they were talking about her as if she was not there, discussing among themselves if she was truly a good candidate to be recruited to something they called a Squad. Apparently Waller was very skeptical. Only once, when her associate pointed her to something in Carrie's file, she said curtly: "interesting". But shortly after, she mentioned that "the hooded ally" owed her a big favor for taking a problem off his hands.

Upon hearing those words Carrie raised her head abruptly, feeling a pang of anxiety.

"What did you say?"

Both women looked at her.

"The Arrow loves me. He will come back for me," said Carrie with a deep conviction in her voice.

Amanda Waller narrowed her eyes, glancing at her piercingly. It was a cold, strict gaze and Carrie felt a bit uneasy, as if subconsciously she sensed that she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

"Ms. Cutter, I strongly suggest you knock the Arrow out of your head and focus on your present situation. I can assure you that entangling himself with you in any kind of relationship is on the very bottom of his list of priorities."

"What do you mean?" asked Carrie, feeling a hollow, sinking feeling in her chest.

"What I mean is that he was more than glad to leave you at our doorstep and flee without looking back. And if he didn't sleep with you earlier, than he surely won't do it now, as we don't allow conjugal visits here. Come to think of it, it's quite surprising. Seems that over time he's become more picky, since crazy, obsessive murderers used to be exactly his type."

The other woman looked questioningly at Waller.

"Huntress," clarified the Director curtly, which was apparently meaningful enough to her associate as she nodded her head in response. "Agent Lyla Michaels will explain to you the details of our offer," Waller went on. "It's either this or a life sentence in prison. You choose."

When she heard those harsh words, Carrie understood what the Arrow had done. That he gave her to these e people just to get rid of her. So that was what she was to him? A nuisance? She felt a horrid emptiness in her gut and tears welling in her eyes. He'd sold her as if she were a thing. That realization was as painful as if a sharp arrow pierced her poor heart and shattered it to pieces.

She tried to hold back the tears, but she couldn't. She sobbed, hiding her face in her handcuffed hands. She was so devastated. Crushed. Never felt so very unhappy. She wanted to die. Without him her life had no meaning. She was nothing. Nothing!

"It seems that you will need to put in some work here, Lyla." She heard Waller speaking. It was easy to guess by her tone that she looked at Carrie with disgust. "My God, it's so pathetic... The Arrow's perfect candidate for the Squad turns out to be a hysteric... I won't send someone so mentally unstable into the field. Get her a psychotherapist. A good one. What was the name of the shrink who had worked with her?"

There was soft rustle of paper when the agent flipped through the file to find that piece of information.

"Doctor Avery Pressnall. She works at St. Walker's."

"Check her out and recruit her if her profile is suitable..."

Carrie didn't even look up when Waller left. Tears dripped down her cheeks, although she tried to swallow them back. A long time ago, she promised herself that she would never cry again because of some guy. In her own time she cried a lot, after she was hurt by her so-called fiancée in the worst possible way a woman could be violated. Jesse Ruckert seemed to be such a nice guy when they met. Charming and intriguing, a bit troubled, but he didn't seem to be that bad guy type she had a tendency to stumble upon before. Over time he turned out to be abusive and violent, and also crazily obsessive about her. He wanted to control her every step. They were engaged, but she was terrified that she would end up stuck with someone like that. Eventually she mustered all her courage and broke up with him. Jesse didn't take it well, and everything turned out rather nasty. Still, she didn't see coming what had happened shortly after graduation day.

It was last day of college, and all the graduates had gathered to celebrate getting a diploma. Carrie left the party early as she wasn't feeling particularly well. She was not aware that Jesse went after her. He assaulted her at the doorstep of her dorm room on campus, dragged her inside, and raped her to punish for leaving him.

There was no one to save her.

She tried to fight back, but she didn't stand a chance. He overpowered her easily and forced himself upon her.

What was even more cruel: after what he did to her, he whispered in her ear to admit that she had a really good time with him.

Everything turned upside down. That day the Carrie she used to be was destroyed—a trusting, joyful, and slightly naive girl was gone, never to return. What was even worse: she was faced with a merciless system when she wanted to report what had happened—no one was willing to believe her story. It quickly turned out that rape was as an offence only in theory, and proving it was not based on how a woman felt about what happened. Jesse was her fiancée, so he couldn't possibly hurt her. No one truly wanted to help—except one policewoman. She believed Carrie and put her in contact with women from an organization which provided assistance and support to rape victims. Carrie underwent therapy and for a while she was whole again... She managed to deal with the recurring memories and all of the shitty crap the victims of post-traumatic stress disorder caused by a rape went through. Over time she was even able to date guys again, sometimes get intimate with them. But all of her relationships fell apart quickly, because she wasn't able to trust anyone completely.

She was a natural blonde, and used to stick to that color, as she liked it. But one day when she looked at a mirror shortly after what had happened, she realized that this innocent look didn't the person who she had become. She started to dye her hair, first black, then eventually that vivid shade of red. She went to self-defense classes to learn how to protect herself and never be helpless again. Eventually she decided to sign up with SCPD, because she wanted to help other people, just like that one policewoman who showed her kindness and believed her.

She didn't know exactly when something snapped in her mind. Where the border was between sanity and the mental illness which struck her, whether it was always hidden somewhere at the dark corner of her mind and triggered by what she went through. No one recognized the symptoms, not even those closest to her, and Carrie herself was not aware what had happened to her.

One day she just came to realization that she'd had enough of a lonely life. She used to be lost, but then she was found. It felt as if she could finally see after being blind for so long. She realized that what she craved the most was to love and to be loved... And to have a man who could protect and save her, because she couldn't keep holding on alone. She didn't remember any more that she wanted to be independent after what Jesse did to her.

She started to think that right man was her colleague from the force, who rescued her when their unit was forced to engage in a shootout with the Culebra gang. Apparently her superiors and the colleague himself didn't see it that way. She was put on limited duty and was sent to Pressnall for therapy. That woman apparently didn't understand what love truly was, and all she could come up with was talking some nonsense about how damaging the obsession was and prescribing her some pills.

Then there was that dreadful night when hell broke loose over the city. Just like a year earlier, Starling was in chaos and flames. But this time it was not an earthquake, but an attack of masked men who slaughtered everyone they met. One of those thugs attacked Carrie and wanted to strangle her. And then a hooded man wielding a bow appeared. And saved her. The Arrow. In that moment she knew...she really knew that he was the man she was looking for.

He became her whole world. The Arrow was not some random guy she could forget. They were meant for each other. She thought that he also finally realized that... After all, he saved her life again. That must have meant _something_. That he _cared_ about her. But why had he left her behind then? She would do everything for him. Kill for him, or stop killing, if he only asked. She would offer herself to him, both her soul and her body, and want nothing in return—only to be loved. She would be his most trusted companion, following him wherever he went... And yet she was denied and left alone in the power of some mysterious organization she knew nothing about.

Did he hate her? But why? She didn't do anything wrong...

The other woman waited patiently, giving her some time to pull herself together. Carrie heard a soft rustle of paper; apparently she was looking through her file, or whatever they had on her. Once she registered that, it set her thinking. First and foremost, how could they have it? Did they pull it straight out of SCPD archives? But how could they get access to them so fast? Especially since Carrie used to be special ops and her file was confidential. Did it mean that this Advanced Group of Whatever had their contacts and sources practically everywhere...?

She raised her head slowly to gaze at the other woman. Her companion or interrogator, or whoever that woman was (perhaps Waller's right-hand?) was older than Carrie, and seemed to be in her late thirties. Her name was Lyla, she reminded herself. She failed to remember her surname though. But what was more important was the fact that Waller named her an 'agent' Was this place some intelligence agency?

When Lyla noticed that Carrie was glancing at her, she closed the folder and offered her a tissue. Carrie looked at it for a while and then grabbed it hastily in one swift move. She wiped her eyes. She knew that she must look like a scarecrow, with her mascara smudged in dark streak on her cheeks. Being occupied with ruined make-up should be the least of her worries, but it was so damn annoying... And her eyes prickled. Blinking didn't help much. She blew her nose loudly.

"What do you want with me?" asked Carrie, once she was sure her voice was not going to fail her. Still it was a little hoarse. "Who you are? What is this place?"

"You are in the headquarters of Advanced Research Group United Support, the government's agency," answered the agent. "Our top priority is maintaining national security, fighting with global terrorism, and in some cases neutralizing the crises before they emerge. I guess you are wondering what it has to do with you."

That thought had crossed Carrie's mind, but she didn't say anything, waiting till Lyla elaborated.

"You have a very specific skill set, Ms. Cutter. And we are looking for people with profiles exactly like yours."

"Huh?"

"We want to employ you."

"What?" asked Carrie surprised. And a bit suspiciously. Something here was off.

"But under certain conditions," added Lyla.

"Was waiting for the _but_ part," muttered Carrie.

"Here is A.R.G.U.S.'s offer." The woman slid toward her a clipped file.

Carrie reached for it a bit clumsily. She arched her eyebrows, looking at the front page, bearing only the A.R.G.U.S logo and nothing else, not even the job title. But then again, what should it be? A Special Agent? Before she opened the file, she glanced up at Lyla.

"And what if I don't agree?" she asked. "Do I have any choice?"

"Of course you have a choice. You can refuse. But in such a case we will have to turn you over to the authorities. As a former policewoman, you are well aware what the punishment for double murder is."

Carrie bit her lip. Indeed she knew all too well. She had no more questions and turned her attention to the file lying before her.

"Take you time," said Lyla.

Carrie flipped through the papers, reading them carefully. She still squeezed the tissue in her hand and wiped her eyes from time to time, as they watered, sore because of smudged mascara. The documents were very vague to say the least. She hesitated. Was it really something she should sign up for?

But she was certain about one thing—she didn't want to go to prison. Or end up locked on a psychiatric ward. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine at the mere thought that they would most likely send her there. She was once on St. Walker's locked ward and she had no intention to repeat the experience. All of those shrinks were like Pressnall. They didn't understand what true love was.

"I'll roll with this," said Carrie firmly. She didn't exactly read the job offer till the end, just scanned a couple of last paragraphs, but she didn't care.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just show me where I need to sign," she answered with bored tone. "And take these bracelets off me." She raised her hands. "It hurts like a bitch."

To her surprise, her wish was fulfilled. She was given a pen and signed every scrap of paper Lyla put before her. She didn't waste time wondering what she was getting herself into. She didn't care what would happen to her. The Arrow pushed her away and she was left alone. She decided to drift with the tide. Once she'd put the last signature, Lyla took the documents and put them with the rest in a folder.

"Welcome to Task Force X, Ms. Cutter," she said.

Carrie said nothing. She had skipped the part which described that Task Force X, so the name didn't tell her anything. Maybe she should have read those papers more carefully after all...?

* * *

 _A/N As usual_ _—don't forget to comment if you liked the story.  
_

 _So, as for Carrie's past. All we know from the official file about her (the one Felicity got from SCPD/St. Walker's hospital archives in 3x07—you can read a part of it on Arrow Wiki, there is a screenshot) that her fiancée, Jesse Ruckert, disappeared shortly after graduation day. So obviously the intention behind it was to make us think that she murdered him, because she was already craaaazy. I, however, decided to came up with something different. I was on the fence if that story suits to a fic to Arrow, as it is really, really grim, but unfortunately in real life stories like this happen more often than most of us would like to think._

 _As for Carrie's mental health—one of the most horrible things is that person suffering it has no idea what is happening to her or him. All what can be is are the symptoms of an illness, not how the person really is. So young Carrie, the one who became a policewoman, could be very different. Also, her being a natural blonde is the reference to Amy Gumenick's hair color. In her other roles she has fair hair._

 _Again it was fun to write all of those characters, especially Amanda. They definitely doesn't get enough attention in Arrow fics. Actually I have an idea for a longer story about Waller, but need to first finish one of me others ongoing ones. Speaking of Amanda—have you seen Suicide Squad movie? I think that Viola Davis gave a really good performance and was one of the best things of that movie—overall although it was quite enjoyable to watch, it was also messy, as put of various pieces of puzzle not matching each other. Also the villains were so random and not really in the profile of Task Force X. As for Amanda, I still can't get why Cynthia Addai-Robinson's version couldn't exist independently in Flarrowverse. But well, heard that Cynthia Addai-Robinson has a female lead role in tv show Shooter which premieres this fall and guess what I will be watching instead of Arrow._


	4. Desire

_Now it was a very loooooong time. Haven't forgot about this story, writing it is a lot of fun. Quite unexpectedly Oliver's chapter appeared on the scene, with some of his reflections about Carrie, some Team Arrow interactions and his conversation with Quentin._

 _Many thanks to_ _ **Perosha**_ _for beta. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **Desire**

 _"I'm sorry, Carrie," says Oliver quietly, not sure if she can even hear him. He brushes a strand of her long, curly red hair from her face without any conscious thought behind the gesture, looking down on her._

 _Her breath is steady and her eyes tightly shut, and she is completely limp in his arms, feeling surprisingly heavy. He holds her for a while longer, for the first time taking a really good look at her features. She is very pretty. Vixen-type, just like Felicity had said. Unlike Tommy, he hadn't had a special thing for redheads. He has always liked blondes the most. But he must admit that there is something... captivating about Carrie. Pity that it comes paired with craziness, unpredictability and obsession._

 _He places her delicately on the ground, once he is sure that she has lost consciousness for good. Hell, what was that woman made of? Iron? She resisted his tranquilizer longer than he had expected. As if she just refused to go down._

 _He puts his dislocated thumb back on the place with no more than a brief wince of pain appearing on his face. It seems that there won't be too much swelling. He feels also a throbbing pain in his right arm and hip. He had landed rather heavily, although the fall was fortunately relatively short. He needs to add to his injuries the bruises left by Cupid. She kicked him rather hard in his left thigh. And in the face... He licks his cut lip, still feeling taste of blood...and her kiss. He shouldn't have allowed her to do that, but she caught him by surprise. He just used the opportunity and distracted her long enough to put that tranquilizer dart in her neck unnoticed. He tries to convince himself that it was better than having another brutal brawl with her. Even if what he did was a very... morally questionable deed._

 _He had been stupid to underestimate her only because she was a woman. What if she had shot him with an arrow straight to the chest? He was sure that she didn't truly want to hurt "her lover," but it was still a close shave._

 _He ponders briefly over the changing nature of Carrie's "feelings" towards him. From love to hate, then from hate to love again... She was more unpredictable than the weather in Starling. God, and truly insane. If he hadn't stopped her, she would have be on him in the blink of an eye. Carrie was worse than all those girls that were practically throwing themselves at him when he was a carefree party boy. He is not that guy anymore, but Cupid has managed to strike a certain chord that still has been deeply rooted in him. He wasn't made of stone after all. It takes him a while to push out the images that involuntarily come to his mind after being kissed by an attractive woman. Slightly embarrassed, he thinks that he could use a very cold shower right now._

 _He gets up rapidly and walks several steps away along train track. After a quick search he finds his bow lying close by and picks it up—it seems to be undamaged. He reminds himself that Carrie's recurve was left up there, abandoned near the entrance to the station, when he knocked it out of her hand._

 _He walks down the tunnel, searching for a way back to the surface—he is sure there must be stairs somewhere. However, his thoughts still drift around Cupid and what has occurred between them. And what has_ not _occurred. Maybe he is also insane to even think about that... Or perhaps he has brought the game a bit_ too _far after all. He feels an empty feeling in his chest he can't really place. It has nothing to do with Carrie's obsessive love for him... After all he was not_ that _desperate to actually even consider getting together with his stalker and screwing her in that underground tunnel moments after she had wanted to kill him. But it made him realize something._

 _He is lonely. He usually doesn't think about that—his mission is the most important thing for him and it doesn't exactly leave room for pursuing relationships. But right now he wonders if one day he will end up alone and abandoned by all his allies, because everyone will eventually move on with their lives. Roy won't be his sidekick forever. John mentioned lately that—as crazy as it sounded—he planned to propose to Lyla again; and if she agrees he wanted to marry her second time. Once that happens, things might get more complicated. Oliver wished them all the best, but it was hard to imagine that a governmental agency wouldn't have anything against the husband of one of its high-rank agents actively supporting a vigilante._

 _Felicity has followed him this far despite occasionally having doubts about his way of meting out justice. She is faithful and dedicated, but the mission of making things right where the system fails is not her only motivation to support the Arrow. She is doing it for him, and eventually she will want something in return. Something much more than a platonic friendship. And he can't give her that, so it will end up in tears and painful disappointment._

 _And Laurel..._

 _Things with Laurel got more complicated ever since she'd decided to take on Sara's mantle, after it became clear that she can't come back, as Ra's al Ghul refused to release her from the League. Oliver knew she'd been training with Ted Grant, a former vigilante, and she didn't even wanted to hear about his objections. He is aware that he can't forbid her to go out in the field—who he was to tell her what she should or shouldn't do? When it came to some matters she could be as stubborn as he was himself, or perhaps even more. He is aware that he needs to find a way to make amends with Laurel—he doesn't want to lose her again. But first he has to take care of the matter he currently has at hand..._

 _After a brief walk, he finds a way back to the surface. There is a steel staircase behind barred doors. Apparently it was meant to be used by technical staff that maintained the tunnel. The padlock and chain are old and rusty though, so he easily gets rid of those obstacles by shooting an explosive arrow._

 _The lock in the second door is not much of a challenge as well. He emerges into the rainy night and breathes in cold air with delight. It feels refreshing, especially after being almost run over by a speeding train. Once his comm is back on, he hears Felicity's scream that is almost deafening._

 _"Oliver?! Oh my God, Oliver! Are you... are you all right?!"_

 _He realizes that they must have been freaking out with Dig after they had lost his signal so rapidly. He'd been silent for so long that they must have imagined that Cupid had torn him to pieces._

 _"Yes, I'm fine," he answers. "Nothing broken."_

 _Except a woman's heart, he thinks silently to himself. He can't help feeling a little guilty about the way the events between them unfolded. But no one will ever learn what had happened in that tunnel. Nobody will believe Carrie even if she would be willing to share the story, and he certainly has no intention to tell anyone how exactly he had taken Cupid down._

 _"Dig? Are you there?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"I need your help. Take the van. We need to pay A.R.G.U.S. a visit. I'll be waiting for you by the old entrance to Northgate station."_

 _"Got it," replies Dig. "Will be there shortly."_

 _Once it is set (and after assuring Felicity again that he is truly all right) Oliver goes back into the tunnel the same way he came out, to return for Carrie. She is lying where he left her. When he approaches Cupid, he is struck by a sudden thought that something in her brings to mind a wild leopard. Her face is turned away from him, partially hidden by her strewn hair. In the light cast by lamps installed on the tunnel's walls, her hair looks as if set aflame._

 _He stops by her side and looks down at her quiver. He should disarm her and check that she doesn't have any surprises hidden in her pockets. When he reaches under the flap of her coat he stops halfway, suddenly thinking guiltily about their "intimate" moment and his hand traveling on her body. He would lie to himself if he pretended that he hadn't enjoyed to a certain extent holding a woman in his arms again. Even if she was crazy, and would probably put an arrow into his neck if she found him a bad kisser. But right now it just feels wrong to paw her when she is unconscious._

 _He makes up his mind and just checks her pockets. Fortunately most of her clothes fit her body tightly, and it doesn't look as if she's been hiding something in her cleavage. He turns away his gaze, ashamed, once he realizes that he has been staring at her bosom. He decides that he can take off her quiver once they are back on the surface and picks her up—she is not heavy, but as he also needs to hold his bow in one hand, it turns out to be kind of a challenge to carry both at the same time._

 _He gets to the surface though, and goes back with Carrie in his arms to the main entrance to the station. Her bow is lying where it was dropped and there isn't a living soul in the vicinity. That's good. Civilians appearing on the scene would complicate matters._

 _He waits on Dig, sitting on the stairs, the Oneida Kestrel across his knees. He tries to not look at Cupid, who lies close by on the dry scrap of ground where he has placed her. Once he took off her quiver, it become hard to believe that she is a dangerous and ruthless killer._

 _He tells himself that what he intends to do with Carrie is the best option. A problem easily solved. It shouldn't be hard to convince Amanda to take her into Task Force X. She mentioned recently she was short on men. Oliver knew that she even considered bringing into the fold China White, who was currently incarcerated in Iron Heights—but she had too many connections to the Triad to make it work. That shouldn't be the case with Carrie. She operated solo._

 _But still, at the same time he feels guilty about the decision deep down. Maybe because he is aware that this girl is not right in the head. Maybe he should take her to the mental hospital, not to A.R.G.U.S. He could drop her at their doorstep and flee, before the staff made an attempt to keep_ both _of them inside. Maybe she would get some real help there...But then again, the treatment of that shrink of hers hadn't proved to be successful. They wouldn't be able to hold her in St. Walker's; that place had crappy security and someone as determined as Cupid would manage to break free in no time in order to get back to her "lover". And the problem would start all over again. So A.R.G.U.S. is really the only plausible option. But the awful truth is that Waller won't care much about Cutter's well-being. She will send her in the field once she will make her cooperate—and knowing Waller it would be before long—and sooner or later it would get Carrie killed. Oliver had no illusions about the average longevity of Suicide Squad's members. So he has just sentenced that girl to certain death._

 _He casts another brief glance to Carrie, who in her current state looks completely harmless. He knows that he shouldn't pity her and she fully deserves what she is about to get. But he is also aware that her fate will always lie heavy on his conscience._

* * *

Oliver was sitting in the foundry, keeping his left hand in a bowl full of ice cubes. Hardly any lights were switched on, and he enjoyed the silence and the sense of security his hideout provided him with. It had been a crazy day and he was glad it was nearing to an end. He was sure he would remember Carrie's rough way of showing him affection for a very long time. He'd already examined all his injures when he was taking off his suit and discovered an even wider collection of bruises than he expected to find.

He pulled his hand out of the bowl and looked at it with a sour expression on his face. He still felt throbbing pain when he tried to move his thumb. It seemed that he would need to take it easy for a few days.

He heard the door to the foundry opening, then footsteps on the stairs. He turned in the swivel chair to face Dig.

"How is the hand?" asked John.

"Could be worse. Everything set with A.R.G.U.S?" Oliver had left the agency headquarters early, before Waller made a decision whether she would take Cutter into Task Force X or not. Dig insisted that he should call it a night and get some rest. He also offered to stay behind and fill him in later.

"Yes, it's done," said John. "Lyla said that Cutter agreed to sign up with the Squad. Do you think it was wise to hand her to Waller?"

"Iron Heights isn't right for her. At least on the Squad…She could make a difference." He fell silent for a while. He hoped that Carrie, with an adequate combination of motivation and discipline he was sure Waller would be able to provide her with, would be able to find some new purpose. Other one than getting into the Arrow's pants. "Did Lyla say anything else?"

"Well, she mentioned that Cutter is even nuttier than the last woman they had."

"Terrific," muttered Oliver.

The door to the foundry opened again. Oliver was a bit surprised to see Roy and Felicity entering.

"Weren't the two of you supposed to be at home?" he asked.

When he was waiting for Dig by the entrance to Northgate station, he contacted Felicity again and suggested that she should go back home. He wasn't planning to go out again this evening, so there was no point in keeping her sitting in the foundry idly and waiting for their return, especially because the business at A.R.G.U.S. headquarters might take some time.

"I just wanted to check if you're all right," said Roy.

"We both wanted to," Felicity cut in. "I wouldn't be able to go sleep anyway, after all these nights of staying up so late. Or early? Is 3 a.m. late or early?" she pondered.

"Depends on the season," offered Dig.

"Makes sense," she said, offering him a light smile. But when she turned her gaze to Oliver, her expression became serious again. She sensed that something was bothering him.

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Roy, also looking at him with concern.

"Not really," admitted Oliver. "And you?"

"Not really," he answered like an echo, smiling sadly. Ever since he learned about the cop he had killed when he was affected by the Mirakuru drug, he didn't seem to be all right. It bore down on him like a heavy weight—the awareness of his actions that were irreversible. Oliver knew that the thought that he had no control over what he was doing didn't make him feel much better. "Slept most of the afternoon. Figured I'd phone Felicity to check the progress with the case and if you need me. She told me everything. So it's the end of Cupid problem?"

"It seems so," Oliver muttered half-heartedly.

"Oliver, what's wrong?" Felicity shot him a worried look. "What happened in that tunnel?"

The last thing he wanted was to tell them the full story. But he couldn't brush them off with silence, so he decided to offer at least half the truth.

"You know...just looking at her...being so far gone...plunged deep into her obsession. It was almost like a warning signal."

"You're not like her," Felicity assured him hastily.

"How could you know?" he asked grimly.

"I…I just know," she said, approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "She is…well…she is just a certified nutzo. And you…You are not crazy," she stated firmly.

He glanced up to her and gave her a ghost of a smile, deep down feeling gratitude. But it didn't reduce the uneasiness he had felt. It was not only about Cutter. His earlier encounter with her shrink proved to be quite disturbing as well.

Ever since he had put on that green hood, many different insults were hurled at him—psycho, nutjob, costumed freak and many, many worse. But somehow the psychiatrist's words, although in fact not really offensive, were the ones that got to him and kept echoing in his mind even now. He couldn't forget that look full of contempt Doctor Pressnall had given him.

 _You could use a little therapy yourself._

He wasn't able to come up with a proper riposte. So he had just glared at her and turned away to leave her office. He doubted she would call security, but nevertheless he preferred to disappear from the view as fast as possible.

"Lyla is preparing a late dinner. And you're all invited." Dig's voice shook him out of his thoughts. He realized John was looking at him, waiting for his answer.

At first Oliver wanted to say that he was good. Usually he didn't mind the solitude of the Foundry and he was tired. But then again, after what had happened tonight, he really didn't want to be alone.

"Thanks, man." He got up on his feet and reached for his leather jacket, draped over the chair. "You guys are coming?"

Roy and Felicity accepted Dig's invitation as well. The four of them left the foundry together.

* * *

"I need to ask you something," said Lance. It was one of their usual meetings in the back alley behind the precinct, a couple of days after the business with Cupid was over.

"What's that, Detective?" said the Arrow a bit absent-mindedly, as his glance kept darting at the back door. He was not a fan of this place. Some cops used this exit, as it was closer to a small parking lot where most of them parked their private cars. While the sight of the Arrow talking with the Captain wouldn't be found to be extraordinary by most of the policemen serving under Lance, Oliver still felt some reservations about advertising their close cooperation like that. Besides, the alley was narrow and offered a scarce amount of escape routes. He comforted himself with the thought that he could always use a grappling arrow to get to the roof, but he would have still preferred a bit more open space.

"What have you done with your crazy girlfriend?" asked Lance, putting an end to his deliberations. "You didn't deliver her to the station, so I've been wondering..."

"I took care of the problem," answered the Arrow curtly, shooting him a grim look. He hadn't thought much about Carrie over the last few days, as going about his usual vigilante business kept him occupied enough to not bother any more about his stalker.

"I wonder In what manner exactly, since I haven't heard about her any more." The Captain narrowed his eyes, looking at him a bit suspiciously. "You didn't let her go just because she was _a fan_ , I guess?"

"And what do you think? That I've put an arrow through her heart and thrown the body into the bay?" asked Oliver bitterly.

Lance neither confirmed nor denied that suspicion, but he looked as if that thought had crossed his mind.

"She was dangerous. Unpredictable," he finally said slowly. "If you didn't have any other choice..."

"She's alive," Oliver interrupted him. "And in the custody of A.R.G.U.S. That's all I can tell you."

"Those government guys again, huh? Maybe it's better that way."

"Believe me, it is." He fell silent for a longer while. Lance seemed to be content with this explanation. However, since the topic of Cupid was already brought up, Oliver couldn't stop himself from asking Lance something more about her. He remembered that she was a cop. "Cutter used to be SCPD. Did you knew her before she...lost the touch with reality?"

"Not really. Glade's precinct was her first station, but she wasn't answering to me, so we didn't cooperate too closely. She was just one of the new kids in the force for me. Not too many women sign up with SCPD though, let alone to work as a beat cop, so I can't say that I don't remember her at all. She was good when there were some delicate matters...You know, when there was a need to talk with a victim of abuse... Or domestic violence. Or a rape. Most women don't want to talk with a man after being violated. She was emphatic, I would say. Inspired trust." He sighed. "After some time, she got a promotion and was moved to the Central station. Eventually made to SWAT. There was some shitty situation Cutter's team got caught in, a shootout between gangs. I don't know the details, but she was put on limited duty shortly after. And...you know the rest of the story. Next time she appears, she is one of costumed freaks. _Cupid_." His expression full of disgust clearly showed what he thought about that moniker. "It's really a shame that she ended up like that."

Suddenly he realized that the Arrow had kept silent for a longer period of time and he started to wonder if he'd accidentally insulted him, talking so negatively about people in costume.

"Hey, no offense about the costumed freaks. Although I find a hood and dressing up in a leather outfit a bit silly to be honest."

"None taken," answered the Arrow.

Quentin wondered if he had asked about Cutter because he had seen a twisted mirrored image of himself in her. Maybe he shouldn't tease him and call Cupid his "girlfriend". After all, he was not sure how exactly that mind of his worked. And since he had connected all the dots and was almost one hundred percent sure that it was Oliver Queen hiding under that hood, he also knew that he'd been through a lot. He had no idea how many traumatic events he'd suffered on that island, but life wasn't exactly easy for him after his return. All of that connected with that focus on his mission, almost to the point of obsession, put a lot of strain on him. It would be easier for Quentin if he could distance himself and still pretend that the Arrow was someone faceless. A superhero who could do everything, fearless, unstoppable and devoid of the weakness of human nature. But he was aware that the vigilante was just a man. Who looked very weary tonight. And he simply wasn't able to not care ever since he figured him out. Especially since he had made amends with _both_ Oliver and the Arrow. Two years ago he would never ever think that it was possible. Life held many surprises indeed...

"You know, if you need to talk..." offered Lance.

The Arrow gave a long sigh. He hunched a bit, as if a great weight was pressing down on his shoulders. His face was almost completely hidden under the shadow of the hood, but the grim tone of his voice betrayed enough.

"I'm just...afraid," he admitted. "That one day I can turn into someone like her. And not even realize that I missed the point of no return. You have no idea, Detective, how often I question the rationality of my actions," he added honestly.

"Well, that alone is a sign that you don't need to worry about your sanity," said Lance firmly. "And as for the rest...You have people around you who make sure your fears will never become true."

He glanced at him, and it seemed that Quentin's words gave him some renewed confidence. Apparently he valued Lance's opinion. Somehow up to this moment Quentin had never thought that the Arrow...Oliver...might look up to him.

"Thank you, Detective. I appreciate that. I really do."


	5. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Short "chapters" like this usually mean a discontinuation note. But no worries, I plan to go back to writing _**His Quiver**_ once I finish writing the remaining chapters of _**A Professional Observation**_. Currently two longer WIPs to _Arrow_ is too much for me. Meanwhile, you can check my new story with Carrie and Oliver, bonding over... making arrows— ** _The Way To a Man's Heart Is Through Arrows_**. Fluff and romance (with a tinge of angst, of course).


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